


veiled, true

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Changing Tenses, Established Relationship, M/M, Or Is It?, Temporary Character Death, it's really messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: The window in Chrono’s room faces east.Kouji wakes up to a west-facing window.





	veiled, true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/gifts).



> SORRY THIS TOOK A WHILE  
> i had a bunch of ideas and it was a bit difficult trying to put them together. so. there are lots of suspension of disbelief and i took a whole bunch of liberties. i hope you enjoy it anyway, i put my heart in it!!
> 
> not Next-compliant. set in the future.

Chrono is always up way earlier than Kouji can even gather the scarce amount of lucidity to function.

“It’s a Sunday,” Chrono’s soft voice reverberates onto the duvet Kouji has pulled over his shoulders, “you don’t have work, right?”

The window in Chrono’s room faces east. The landscape outside the apartment is undisturbed, and nothing stands in the way of the unforgiving morning sun to slither its way into the bedroom. With one hand pulling one of the curtains aside, Chrono watches as it shines onto the bed right below the window sills, a gentle indulging smile brighter than the sun.

(After Kouji’s displeased groan the first morning he stayed over, Chrono had laughed at first and then immediately bought and installed blackout curtains in place of the previous thin set. Kouji had stared at the new curtains, partly in guilt, and partly in repressed joy. Chrono didn’t tell him, but Kouji knew enough from the fact that he’d kept the thin curtain set on his window for the longest time, that Chrono had enjoyed waking up with the sunrise. Kouji had struggled with what to say for his response—but then Chrono turned around to him with hands on his hips, pleased in all his demeanors, and said _you won’t have to worry about staying over here forever now, would you?_

Kouji chose to smile back instead of tearing up—it was surprisingly easy, now, when presented with warmth as constant as Chrono’s.

_You’re right. Thank you_.)

Mumbling incoherently, Kouji turns over on the bed and squints, making out the silhouette of Chrono’s figure above him against the backlight. Chrono tilts his head, lightly questioning.

“No work.” Kouji manages to say, to which Chrono grins.

Tucking his curtain onto the hook on the sill so he can let go, Chrono pulls himself up on the bed and scoots closer to the bundled duvet in which Kouji has burrowed himself into.

“What do you want to do then?” Chrono asks, and in the way he sweetly intones the words, the answer seems obvious. “No leftover work for you to hole up in your own room anymore?”

Kouji tries to roll his eyes, but dizzily, barely apparent under the shadow of sleep. “Keep work and home separate as much as possible, remember?”

The edges of Chrono’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “I remember. That’s good.”

“Uh-huh,” Kouji whispers, and yawns.

“That’s a big one.” Chrono giggles. He reaches out with one hand and swipes aside a few strands of Kouji’s bangs; Kouji cracks open the one freed eye, regarding his partner with typical bleariness that he used to hide in the past. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

“How early?” Kouji asks, even as he pulls his legs against his torso and blinks more slowly.

“Not even eight.” Chrono whispers, stroking the side of Kouji’s head with three careful fingers, ushering him closer to the comfort provided by sleep. “Sunny-side up egg when you’re awake later?”

“Okay.” Kouji mumbles. “Thank you, Chrono.”

Having closed his eyes and pressed his ear onto the pillow, Kouji can barely register Chrono’s response. But the fingers brushing his hair are ever-present, and the light pressure of Chrono’s waist on his ankle tells everything Kouji cares to know at the moment.

It simply doesn’t beat the memory of the same man’s chin on his shoulder the night before, or the hint of indentation left on the bedsheet just to the right of Kouji’s side, but he takes refuge in the solid reality provided by Chrono’s light touches, and lets himself fall into the weightlessness of slumber.

He cannot wait to wake up to another one of Chrono’s breakfast, too.

 

 

 

 

 

Kouji’s old apartment’s window faced west. It was twenty minutes’ walk to the closest station, and it was a shoebox with poor soundproofing. None of these were of any significant problems to Kouji, because 1) he only came home to sleep, anyway, so he’d barely need to care about the afternoon sun, 2) the area was a quiet residential block, with barely any people around during specific times, which made walking relaxing, and 3) it was not like he was home long enough to make noises and get complaints about it.

All in all, the apartment served its purpose.

He left the apartment behind after Chrono held his hand and asked. Kouji barely hesitated, because at that point of their relationship, it was an inevitability; he’d spent a majority of his days in the Shindou’s bigger apartment (3LDK, seven minutes’ walk to the closest station), and Mikuru had made endless hints regarding transforming her work and storage room into another bedroom since the beginning of that year.

_I will try my best not to be a bother._

_Oh, Ibuki-kun…. You won’t be a bother. It will be a delight to have you around._

Chrono had taken one last look around the old apartment, too, before locking the door and handing the key back to Kouji.

_Go return that before the management office closes. I’ll be waiting at home, all right?_

Like trust, like a promise.

Kouji was only slightly surprised that when he did come _home_ , Chrono had cooked a full course of meal deserving of a high-end restaurant’s extravagant menu. Mikuru called it a welcome party, and Chrono called it a family dinner.

Seated on the dining table like that, across the people who willingly and readily called him their family, Kouji had little doubt of how strongly the memory of this moment would carve itself into the edges of his heart.

There was the subtle sadness from having to leave his old apartment, but there also existed the relief from being able to move on from a place he’d put himself in for the past years. The Shindou’s apartment felt bare with space in comparison to Kouji’s old shoebox, and it was nostalgic in a way so tender that Kouji began remembering the fondness he had for it.

Kouji had never expected to revisit that old apartment anytime soon, though, if ever.

But it’s this west-facing window that he wakes up to.

 

 

At first, Kouji thinks he’s still dreaming. It takes a fraction of a second for him to register dread, because every dream he has tends to always turn horrid and cruel, driving him into a wheezing and vomiting mess. But when minutes go by and he finds that he doesn’t need to squint too hard to see the ceiling, that his sweats are sticking to his bangs—oppressive in a way that reminds him of being grounded by Chrono’s hot chocolate at midnight—that his breathing is disturbingly too regular, there is the harsh and stark realization that he isn’t enveloped in any dream.

He sits up, looking around. He may have left this supposed apartment of his more than a year ago, but he had spent longer sleeping inside the same shoebox, and so he immediately recognizes the stray cables on one corner of the room, the dented ceiling plate next to the overhead light, the same bedsheet that could almost always be called his favorite—one he had even brought along during his move to the Shindou’s—

Kouji is in his old apartment, and he doesn’t know why.

In instinct, he reaches out to his bedside table. His phone is there, as per habit. The familiar edges of the gadget barely put him back together, and he takes in a long breath before turning it on.

**07:32**

**Sunday, April 1 st**

Kouji stares at the screen, unseeing. _It’s a Sunday_ , Chrono said; _not even eight_ , he also said.

Even as his head throbs torturously, Kouji manages to get past his own body’s attempt to prevent the recall, and remembers.

( _Are you free this Saturday?_ Mamoru had asked. He was shuffling his cards on the desk, but he spared more than a couple seconds to catch Kouji’s eyes. _Is it 1 st of April? I can’t remember. But do you want to go out for drinks? It’s been a while._

Kouji thought that he was, perhaps—hopefully—smiling. He wanted to show his appreciation for the invitation.

_Same place again?_

_I was considering that. Do you want to check out another place?_ Mamoru prodded at his pocket and pulled out his phone. _Ah, sorry, my mistake. Saturday is March 31 st._

Kouji chuckled. _Understood. And I would be okay wherever, Anjou_.

Mamoru’s smile was wide. _Perfect_.)

The memory hurts; in the absence of the tenderness Mamoru has always shown him, and the certainty his words always have, as well as the gaining terror presented by his current situation.

An April fool’s prank? Kouji trusts—and he does so both easily and desperately—Chrono not to do this to him without warning him properly. It’s less of a rule and more of an established faith in each other. They don’t do something this uncalled for without at least a warning. So this cannot be Chrono’s doing.

Kouji lurches forward and presses his forehead on his knees. This teleportation-of-sort (he has no history of sleepwalking, and he doesn’t think he can handle the breaking and entering charge he would get from this event) has left him disoriented. He really could do with Chrono’s hot chocolate right now.

With that, he establishes the first course of action to be going back to Chrono.

As he changes, Kouji is stuck between trying to understand and trying to deny everything. If it’s a prank, then it’s a thorough one. He has woken up in his usual sleepwear (a shirt and loose slacks), there are work documents scattered in piles all over his floor, his wardrobe is filled with his scarce amount of clothes, and there are opened plastics of foods in his bare refrigerator.

It’s eerily reminiscent of how his apartment had looked before Chrono started coming over and bringing in produce to stuff into the cooler and cook.

( _I’m doing this because I want to._ Chrono held up the bags of grocery. _I want to cook fulfilling meals for you. I’m not forcing myself._

Ibuki thought he was halfway into scowling. _I can’t just make you visit me on a daily basis. It’s too far out._

_Really? I don’t think it’s that bad._ Chrono was arranging the eggs in the refrigerator. _And you know you can always visit my place instead, right?_

_What,_ Kouji stared. The tips of Chrono’s ears were red.

_Why don’t you come over?_  Chrono was blushing, but he also held himself with confidence. One of his hand was put palm-up, presenting it as an offer and not as a command. _I’m going to cook a lot tonight; Mikuru-san really wants beef stew._

Kouji thought that was too well-calculated. Chrono always presented himself like an offer, like nothing can inconvenience him too badly. He was saying it like Kouji’s participation for dinner wouldn’t put any extra burden on himself. He was saying it like he’s been planning to invite him over for the longest time.

_Oh…._ )

It’s eerily reminiscent of the past that he’s let Chrono—and only Chrono—witness.

Chrono wouldn’t do this to him, that Kouji has no doubt. That leaves no other suspicion, but he is aware of the length Ryuzu and the members of The Company would go for their objectives, so he wonders, briefly, if the worst case scenario has finally befallen them.

( _We don’t know for sure._ Christopher Lo crossed his arms. Everyone was looking at him, even as he decidedly looked away.

_Not at all?_ Kouji asked. He knew that, at this point, they were just hounding Lo needlessly.

Ren, somehow, stood up with the grace of a butterfly, but also with all the unnecessary, exaggerated motions in his limbs that bely his character. Everyone watched, waiting.

_Not at all, Ibukki._ He was saying, tilting his head. The baby in Tetsu’s arms caught the redhead’s glance. _He’s still too young for us to know for sure. For himself to know for sure._

Chrono had a hand on his chin. He was still, composed in his stature, but Kouji noticed the troubled gaze he fixed on the baby.

Of course. Of course Chrono would have the most dilemma about his enemy-regressed-into-an-actual-baby. They had a long way ahead of them in regard to actually handling this phenomenon, and Kouji didn’t have the capacity to think them up. His childhood can’t exactly be used as a basis for child-rearing.

Ren tilted his head again, and this time, Chrono returned the stare. _Well?_

Everyone turned to Chrono. The sudden attention made him furrow his eyebrows, but, otherwise, he was looking through each of them with steel in his eyes.

_Let’s let him choose._ He said. Gentle voice, gentle caress. The baby giggled at the fingers on his cheeks. _Ryuzu has—he’s started over multiple times, you know? Maybe this is another restart for him. But, as he is, he is no threat to us, is he?_

The edges of Ren’s smile softens almost imperceptibly. _No._

Chrono seemed grateful for the simple interjection. _Why don’t we let him grow up? Let him go through childhood. And then we will see, if he has any memories of being Ryuzu, and then—and then we let him choose._

_Too soft._ Ren had immediately said. The tension turned heavy in a second, and Kouji slid closer to Chrono’s side. But then the redhead continued smiling, and shrugged in mock defeat. _I love it, though_.)

Kouji tries not to pinch his temple. It’s only been seven whole years, and the kid hasn’t shown anything noteworthy. Have they been deceived, all the dangers hidden in the disguise of a harmless child?

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Not now, at least. He needs to find Chrono.

After slipping into his boots at the _genkan_ , he turns the knob and exits the (his?) apartment.

Following a rhythm his body had gotten used to in all the years he’d lived in the building, he walks down the corridor. It should have taken no more than a minute to reach the stairway, but for Kouji it takes twice as long. Everything around him—the floor, the doors lining up one side of the corridor, the sun lazily going up in the background—feels like a strange mixture of _just right_ and unsettling.

His mind is going all over and nowhere at once. He finds that his stomach isn’t too cooperative either; he fell asleep looking forward to eating Chrono’s sunny-side up egg, after all.

The thought of Chrono is too solid, settling in a way too contrasting that of his current situation. Kouji grasps hold on the figure conjured behind his eyes from the thought, and walks forward a little more steadily.

At the bottom of the stairs, instead of the same empty corridor Kouji has been expecting, his landlord stands instead. Kouji doesn’t immediately recognize the stout old man—after all, it’s been more than a year since they last saw each other, and the man has aged quite a bit.

Kouji is spared from having to jumpstart the interaction by the Landlord actually greeting him first.

“Out early today, aren’t you? It’s not even eight on a Sunday!”

The edges of Kouji’s eyes twitch. After a short inhale, he manages to reply, “Things to do, as you know, _Oya-san_.”

“Do I know, now.” The Landlord rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

Kouji clears his throat. “ _Oya-san_ ,” he says, pausing for a beat, “do you know how I got back to my room?”

The Landlord gives Kouji a look that truly expresses his incredulity. “Now, Ibuki-san, did you get drunk last night?”

Kouji blinks. “Huh?”

“Why else would you ask that, then?” the Landlord puts his hands on his full hips, clicking his tongue. Kouji doesn’t miss this; he was consistent with rent and never had to face the Landlord’s sermon, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been subject to sneering gossips. “It’s a surprise, though. You’ve lived here for eight years, and I never had any noise or drunk complaints for you.”

There is a beat of silence. And then Kouji whips his head up and croaks, “Eight—”

“You’re my longest resident, do you know that?” the Landlord is saying, seemingly focused on his own voice and nothing else. “Have to wonder why you haven’t married and moved out yet, sometimes. But it’s all good, in my opinion. For me as well!”

As the Landlord laughs at his own joke, Kouji spares the last of his voice to give a respectful amount of agreeing chuckle.

Inside, the air within him dissipates in record time.

His blood is ice, and his brain is a fog. He can’t think, but he keeps trying. Either the Landlord is in the prank (if it _is_ a prank), or something is really, _really_ , wrong. _Just right_ no longer weighs in Kouji’s sense of comfort at the moment. He feels so disturbingly shaken that nothing even feels real anymore.

He needs to find Chrono.

“I’ll make sure to maintain my clean record with the noise complaints, _Oya-san_.” Kouji says; on auto-pilot at this point. He has to get through this for now. “I’m in a hurry now, so….”

The Landlord rolls his eyes again and waves him off. “Yes, yes. Youngsters these days, always out on the street….”

Kouji gives him a nod and takes a right on the corridor. Having left the Landlord’s line of sight, he books it out of the apartment and speed-walks on the street that welcomes him outside.

There are a number of housewives in front of their respective houses or apartments. Kouji dodges and goes around a kid who is running full-speed down the road without looking. Kouji barely listens to the kid’s apology for almost bumping into him.

His shoes scrape the ground as he half-sprints down the lane. Phone in hand, he presses the quick-dial for Chrono’s contact. His breathing is louder than the ringing of the phone, deafening. Kouji breathes in through his nose and clamps his lips together to quiet down.

“The number is no longer available.”

Kouji pulls the phone away from his ear. The long buzz and ring and _the number is no longer available_ keep echoing off the fences on his side.

“No,” Kouji whispers, and redials. Redials, redials, and redials.

“The number is no longer available.”

His legs are like jelly. Nothing is making sense, and he still has to run one-and-a-half kilometers to get to the station. His fingers are getting sore from squeezing his phone and pressing the quick-dial whenever he has the chance. The same female monotone voice would reply, but Kouji endlessly hopes a more youthful male voice would eventually pick up.

He arrives at the Shindou’s apartment in five minutes flat from the closest station. His heart is beating too fast and he is most likely dehydrated, but he finds that he can’t care less.

From the intercom, Mikuru answers.

Kouji has thought he’s gotten delirious and the monotone _the number is no longer available_ is starting to come out from other electronic appliances. It takes Mikuru a couple _Ibuki-kun?_ before Kouji snaps his head up.

“I opened the door for you,” Mikuru says; Kouji turns to see the sliding door of the entrance unlocked. “We will talk upstairs, all right?”

Mikuru sounds sluggish—sleepy, even. Kouji chews on his bottom lip in guilt. He may have interrupted her sleep; she’s a hard-worker, and Kouji relates to the need to pull all-nighters sometimes.

He ignores the song in the elevator and dashes down the corridor when the doors slide open on the Shindou’s floor.

Mikuru is on the threshold, slouching slightly to the side. She looks considerably thinner, but her bright smile remains. Kouji focuses on the curve of her lips; it grounds him, letting him see past his fear and into the worry lacing Mikuru’s expression.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while, Ibuki-kun.” Mikuru says softly.

As fast as her smile has grounded him, the words she’s uttered breaks the floor underneath his feet apart.

“Is it?” Kouji replies hesitantly.

“Yes.” Mikuru shakes her head, exasperated. “You really made me worried, suddenly visiting here after such a long time.”

“Long time?”

Mikuru watches Kouji’s wavering eyes for a second, and two, and her gentle worry morphs into a sadness that Kouji can’t fully recognize. “I’ll make tea.” she opens the door wider and lets him inside.

The interior of the apartment is starkly different from what Kouji can remember. He’s called the place bare with space before, but it’s only gotten even more empty. It’s not only because of the lack of furniture, but also the absence of something significant that he can’t quite put a finger on.

Like the absence of intimacy.

Mikuru exits the kitchen and hands him a cup of hot tea. While she drinks from the mug which she had claimed as her designated cup (beige, with a cartoon bear), Kouji doesn’t. His designated cup is a matching pair he’d gotten with Chrono in a home store a few weeks after they started a relationship. It’s red-gold in color, with diagonal zigzag pattern.

The mug Mikuru has handed to him is plain white; it’s one reserved for guests.

Suddenly Kouji doesn’t feel as dehydrated anymore.

In the heavy silence, he anticipates the continuation of their conversation, but Mikuru seems content to just sit back and look down into the swirling liquid in her cup. Kouji fiddles with his fingers.

“Sorry, did I interrupt you?” he says instead. At Mikuru’s questioning raise of eyebrow, he adds, “In case you were working just now—or asleep.”

The giggle Mikuru lets out, at least, is painfully familiar. She leans forward and puts a hand on her cheek, regarding Kouji with an indescribable expression. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s a relief.” Kouji tells her honestly, and they fall back into silence. This time, it’s comfortable and reminiscent of days when the two of them would sit on the couch and watch TV after an exhausting work day, resting their mind in between the din of background home noises.

As Mikuru doesn’t seem keen on speaking more just yet, Kouji looks around the apartment, trying to locate his and Chrono’s bedrooms. There are three bedrooms in the apartment, and Kouji’s is in between Mikuru’s and Chrono’s, with the door actually visible at the end of the corridor. Kouji squints; the door to the room is ajar, and instead of the sight of a bed he’s made himself, there sits Mikuru’s work desk, along with her swivel chair.

Kouji feels his heart come to a halt.

Desperate, he grabs his cup of tea and drinks it in three big gulps despite the heat. Everything seems a mess, and it will remain so until Kouji can figure out what is going on. First, he needs to get back on track and find Chrono.

“Do you want more tea?” Mikuru asks, amused.

Kouji decidedly shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Help yourself if you need anything else, okay?” Mikuru says. Her openness, her willingness to trust Kouji in her home is a thing that has taken him a while to get used to, but now, all he can feel within himself is confusion and a muffled _yes_.

“Mikuru-san,” Kouji begins, but pauses at Mikuru’s apparent surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” Mikuru tucks in a stray hair behind one ear, her surprise less displeased and more curious. “You’ve never called me anything other than _Shindou-san_ before.”

Mikuru says it as if it’s nothing more than a remark. For Kouji, it’s akin to a violent storm, with lightning blasting on the ground steps away from where he is standing.

“Mikuru-san,” Kouji repeats. His heartbeat is too loud. “About Chrono….”

She lifts her head at the name. “Oh,” she says slowly, and then nods a bit faster. “Yes, of course. You’re here for Chrono?”

“Yes!” Kouji almost wants to shout it out, but he reins himself in on time. “Can I see him?”

A smile is all he gets in response, but somehow it speaks volumes. She stands up and fixes her rumpled skirt, and then gestures towards the general direction of the three bedrooms. “Come on.”

Kouji follows after her, dizzy with adrenaline. A part of him is prematurely relieved; this part thinks _it’s rare that Chrono is still asleep at this time_ , and another part thinks _well, he is allowed to slack off sometimes_ , and Kouji thinks _that’s weird_.

“Come in.” Mikuru pushes on the door of Chrono’s bedroom. She lets herself in first, and Kouji eyes the uncovered mattress on the bedframe with even more bafflement. Mikuru has her back to him, so Kouji eventually turns around to imitate the direction she is facing.

And Kouji’s throat closes up.

On the wall sits a simple altar. There is a burnt incense on one corner of the plank. In the center, propped against the backdrop, is a picture of Chrono. It’s one that Kouji recognizes as one Mamoru had taken during an event at the Dragon Empire Branch. He was smiling in the photo, but there are shades of his intense eyes, too.

In his shock, Kouji fails to deny the fact that the picture has been that of a teenage Chrono. Not the twenty-two years old man who’d supposedly woken him up that morning. The immediate and harsh pressure of _nothing makes sense and Chrono is dead_ shoves him on his knees.

“Ibuki-kun?” Mikuru scoots in front of him. Her expression is sad and sheepish, and there is also a deep understanding in it that mirrors the pain Kouji is radiating.

Kouji can’t speak. The back of his eyes hurt; words would only let it out.

“It’s still affecting all of us, isn’t it?” Mikuru says, leaning back carefully caress his back. “Seven long years, and still—”

“I’m very sorry.”

Mikuru stares at him. Kouji feels like crying.

“I’m very sorry, Mikuru-san. I’m—” Kouji is mumbling, and chokes as he tries to make himself clearer. He wants to cry. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”

“Ibuki-kun?” Mikuru calls out for him, and keeps calling out, even as Kouji stumbles to put on his boots and struggles to let himself out. “Ibuki-kun, you know you’re always welcome here, right?”

Kouji can’t answer her without crying. So he chooses to give a jerky nod and closes the door behind him to avoid seeing the way Mikuru must be looking at him.

The sun has risen higher outside. Kouji exits the apartment building and basks under the sunlight, every inch of his fingers and toes shaking. There are many pedestrians loitering around the sidewalk, but Kouji ignores them as he throws his head back onto a pillar.

“I don’t know what’s going on.” He whispers, like it hurts him just to admit it. He grits his teeth. “Everything is messed up, and Chrono—”

He can’t allow himself to say it out loud.

Somehow, the Shindou Chrono whom Kouji has been in love with and the memories they made together in seven years don’t exist. What exists right here, at this moment, is everything but a Shindou Chrono who was supposed to have lived on.

He needs to find Chrono. A Chrono who isn’t here.

Right now, everything around and within Kouji feel amplified. The grief and the denial and the prickling itch behind his eyes. All but strength.

And then there is nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s pitch black.

Kouji wakes up to nothing but black, infinite as it doesn’t start and doesn’t end. He doesn’t feel the aches associated with waking up from a good night sleep, doesn’t feel the comfort of a mattress underneath his body.

Instead he is floating. He is still dressed in the clothes he’d worn when he escaped his old apartment, but none of the fabric floats like he is. It’s like there is gravity that pulls and keeps them straight on his body, but Kouji’s feet feel nothing but emptiness.

Kouji is starting to think he may as well not be standing upright. Everywhere is black, there is no north or south, and naturally there is no sky and no earth either.

Miraculously, or not, Kouji can still feel the newly-borne grief, and he grounds himself into the feeling. Being teleported (Is it? He’d had enough.) to another place has made his brain suck back the incoming tears, so he tries to breathe, and refuses to mourn.

_I owe you an apology._

The sudden boom of voice reverberates along the darkness. Kouji jolts in place, whipping his head around to locate the source.

_I am unable to appear in front of you at this time. My strength isn’t one for what I am currently attempting to do._

“Who….” Kouji tries to gauge his own reaction. There is a dim awareness inside of him that recognizes the voice, as unclear and too mind-bending at the time.

_We had met, Ibuki Kouji._

Kouji has the same thought. “Chronofang, is it?”

_Yes_. _I owe you an apology._

Kouji is looking straight ahead. After all, there is nothing to see, and the voice comes from all around him. “Apology.”

_Yes._

His breath is shaky, Kouji finds. Chronofang doesn’t seem too eager to get straight to the point either, so Kouji allows himself a reprieve. “Did you do this?”

_In a way, I may have._

“Can you elaborate?” Kouji is trying to rein his panic in. There is an overflowing urge to scream about the whys, but he waits, squinting at the non-existent horizon.

_The power of the heart is quite a strong one, you see._ Chronofang says, like a whisper. _Loneliness and anger felt, to me, one and the same. It bled over into you._

“Bled over?”

_The power of the heart, Ibuki Kouji._ Chronofang doesn’t explain. _I felt loss, and it bled over into your planet and made you feel the same loss._

“Loss….” For Chronofang Tiger to feel a sensation of loss so immense it bled in between worlds, it must have been a person of grave importance. Kouji doesn’t need to say the name for Chronofang to give affirmation.

_I attributed my loss of that man to you. And my heart assumed revenge._

“So you… made me go through all that?” Kouji grits his teeth. His next words destroy a part of his soul as much as it reins him in anger-fueled pain. “You killed Chrono?”

_I did._ Before Kouji can interject, Chronofang adds, _In the way that there are millions of other possibilities out there. I killed Shindou Chrono in this one intersection of destiny._

Kouji blinks tears out of his eyes. He hasn’t even realized he’s been crying. “Are you saying—parallel universes?”

_Just so._

“Wha—so you are saying I was just in a parallel universe where somehow Chrono was dead at _fifteen years old_?” Kouji says, and doesn’t say _in a universe in which I failed my mission?_

_Just as you said._ Chronofang was irritatingly calm. _Once again, I owe you an apology._

Kouji finds that he cannot even get mad at Chronofang anymore. Instead, he lets himself absorb his own anger and disappointment, Chrono’s death heavy on his throat. He feels sluggish, and he wants to drop onto his knees and rest for the whole day. “Can I go back?”

_It’s the least I can do for you, Ibuki Kouji._

Kouji tries not to sneer. Somehow Chronofang has sent him stumbling into a gloom-hooded place in which everything Kouji tried to protect didn’t survive, and now, somehow, Chronofang is going to bring him back to a home where everything Kouji tried to protect _did_ survive.

“Those other universes,” Kouji whispers, “sound lonely.”

_To you, it might be. But time goes on, Ibuki Kouji._

Barking out a laugh, Kouji’s chest feels the lightest it’s ever been. “Are you really going to let me go back home? Is the universe I call my home even the correct reality?” The thought comes to him in pieces: the possibility of a universe where Kouji did better, did all the right things.

_Your reality is for yourself to choose, is it not?_ Chronofang’s voice is tinted with fondness. _As the partner of the person who defeated that man, isn’t making a choice a freedom he won for you, Ibuki Kouji?_

Being lectured on Chrono by Chronofang Tiger isn’t really how Kouji has expected his Sunday to involve, if he has to be honest. But if the worst and the best can both exist, Kouji will willingly accept Chronofang’s words. For now, at least.

“Thank you.”

_As do I._

 

 

 

 

 

He wakes up to the harsh sunrise pouring through an east-facing window.

His pillows are crusty with dried tears. The fabric of his shirt sticks to his sweaty back. His hair is everywhere, itchy as its ends brush his ears. He is so uncomfortable that he tosses the duvet off his body to seek cooler air.

For a moment he wishes to return to the nothingness, the all-encompassing black. Despite the painful touches of grief, it has been a soulless place. Despite the tears shed for each of their loved ones, the soul has never been in the dark but within themselves.

And then there is the whiff of fried egg in the air, and Kouji’s eyes widen.

“You’re awake!” Chrono is standing by the threshold. On his hands is a breakfast table, on which a variety of meals is laid. “That wasn’t even thirty whole minutes. Did you sleep okay?”

The younger man stalks closer, juggling the table carefully in order not to topple the glass on it, and he proceeds to spread the table legs on the sides of Kouji’s thighs.

“Wanted to make this a surprise, but oh well.” Chrono is smiling. “Breakfast in bed. What do you think?”

It’s easy to smile when you have Chrono by your side, but Kouji tears up instead, and laces his fingers around Chrono’s for dear life.

Chrono’s hand is warm, and his smile is bright, and the worry and love painted over his eyes as he gazes at Kouji are undisputed reality.

“What’s wrong?” Chrono asks. He’s scooted onto the bed to put an arm around Kouji’s shoulder, pressing their interlinked hands on his chest. “Nightmare?”

In this world, some things remain: Chrono is alive, and Kouji is holding onto him.

He wants to tell Chrono all about it; about the loneliness and the grief-driven fear. Even embraced in the arms of his most beloved, the aches linger like a scar. But he will bear them. After all, he has Chrono with him, and that is the greatest privilege this universe has ever blessed him with.

**Author's Note:**

> ( _I want to make it more accessible_ , Chrono was saying. He spread out a large piece of paper on the coffee table, a red marker on his right hand. On the paper is an outline of the Dark Zone building.  
>  _I know_ , Kouji had told him in return. _What are the plans, Chief?_  
>  _Don’t call me Chief at home_ , Chrono gave a groan, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed his pleasure. _It’s awkward. And which plans do you want to hear first?_  
>  Kouji blinked, finally noticing the multiple markers of different colors on Chrono’s lap. _How many do you have…?_  
>  _As many as we need. Do you have any suggestions?_  
>  Kouji snuggled closer, grasping at his warm mug. _Oh, are you offering a collaboration now, Chief?_  
>  _Only if the Head agrees, of course._ )


End file.
